


nothing that I'm running from

by colourexplosion



Series: sweet harmony [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Harry, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It takes another three days for Harry to finally ask for it.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing that I'm running from

**Author's Note:**

> hi! as usual, **this is a watersports fic**. please don't read this if you don't like that. thanks to kate for the beta, and the title is from 1D's "strong"
> 
> hope you enjoy!

"I want to try it."

Louis rolls over in their giant hotel bed, frowning at Harry. It's early, early enough that it's not even light out yet, and they should be sleeping. They're not. Too buzzed from the last show of the Australian leg, too excited for their trip to Japan. Harry loves Japan. Japan has always been good to him. 

"What? What time is it?" Louis asks, groggy. Alright, so maybe he’d been sleeping. Oops. "What do you want to do that can't wait until later?"

Harry flushes, grateful for the dark. "Um. Well not right now. Just. Sometime later." He glances at Louis, who's staring at him expectantly. However groggy he’d sounded when he spoke, he doesn’t look it. Like the sound of Harry’s voice is enough to get him to full consciousness in less than a minute. Harry takes a deep breath and looks away.

"The wetting thing. I want to do it."

Louis doesn't say anything. The moment stretches in silence for so long that Harry thinks Louis’ closed his eyes and fallen back asleep but when he looks over, Louis is just looking at him, a soft expression on his face. Fond, almost. It warms Harry down to his toes.

"Hazza,” Louis says, voice gentle. “I'm not letting you do it if you can't even say it properly."

Harry lets out a long breath. Louis is right, he knows he's right, but the thought of saying it aloud is a little too much for him at the moment. Louis hadn’t even said it until the third time they’d done it, when he pressed his face into Harry’s neck, squeezed his hip and murmured _want you to make me piss myself, want that a lot_ into his skin. Admittedly, Louis asking for it made it ten times hotter, but Louis has always been the brave one. 

"Please," Harry says instead. Louis shakes his head.

"Ask me again when you're ready," he says, and leans over to kiss him. Harry accepts it with a sigh.

\--

They make it through all the shows in Japan before Harry can work up the nerve. He almost makes it a couple of times: once in Osaka, right after the second show, and once in Tokyo, right after the third. He freezes each time, though, stiffens up when he manages to get Louis’ full attention on him, can only shake his head when Louis asks him what he wants. They end up doing something else each time, like Harry pressing Louis up against the glass door to the balcony and blowing him -- his bare arse leaving an imprint for them to laugh at later -- or fucking in the giant beds, frantic and tangled together. 

Harry thinks about it on the trip to London. They’re going home, because they haven’t seen it in a long time and because it’ll be a shorter trip to Thailand than if they’d gone to LA. Harry doesn’t care either way; he intends to sleep for at least eighteen hours before doing absolutely anything. He knows Louis feels the same, and the thought of it, just sleeping in the same bed as Louis for as long as they want without having to go anywhere or do anything, sounds so lovely that it makes Harry’s chest ache.

After they’ve rested, though, Harry’s not sure what will happen. Maybe sleep will clear his head and give him the push he needs to ask for what he wants. He’s not really sure what’s stopping him, besides a sort of juvenile embarrassment. He knows it’d be worth it if he could just get the words out. He knows that no matter how embarrassed or ashamed he feels that Louis wouldn’t judge him. That’s, like, the point of it all. He _knows_ that. It’s just difficult. 

“Hey.” Louis’ voice and gentle elbow nudge knocks Harry from his thoughts. He looks over to find Louis watching him, eyebrows pinched with concern. “Y’alright?” 

Harry smiles, letting go of the tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. He slumps to the side a bit, pressing his forehead to Louis’. 

“Yeah, fine,” he says, nose pressing into Louis’ cheek, angling for him to tilt his head. “Just tired.” 

Louis hums in a sort of unconvinced way but kisses him anyway and doesn’t press the issue. Harry kisses him again, just because he can. 

\--

It takes another three days for Harry to finally ask for it. 

“I want to try it,” he says from where he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, watching Louis go through his suitcase, sniffing each article of clothing and either throwing it in a pile or putting it back in the case. It’s gross and Harry loves him so, so much. 

“Try what, love?” Louis asks, pulling out a pair of sweat shorts. _Those_ shorts, actually, the ones Harry made him dirty up that first day in Australia. He feels his cheeks heat from the memory, the possibility that he might -- God. Harry hates irony. 

He takes a deep breath, balling his hands into fists and spreading them out again. He squeezes his eyes shut, and stutters out, “I want you to -- I want to -- to piss myself. And I want you there. Like, what we do. I want -- I want that.” 

“Hazza, love, look at me,” Louis says, and Harry opens his eyes when he feels the pressure of Louis’ hands on his thighs. Louis has moved over to him, on his knees on the floor, just staring up at him. Harry’s face feels hot, and he knows he must be blushing, but he can’t stop. He feels nervous now that he’s actually asked. Like he’s laid open for Louis to do with what he wants and it’s -- it’s a lot. It’s a big feeling, one he can’t really describe. 

Louis, though, Louis gets it. He’s gentle, bringing a hand up to cup Harry’s face, his touch careful and soft and loving. His expression is serious and open and fond, like he’s just been waiting for Harry to ask. God, obviously he has. Harry squeezes his eyes shut again, feeling guilty for making Louis wait so long. 

“No, hey, look at me,” Louis says again, pressing his fingertips harder into Harry’s jaw. Not hard enough to make it hurt, but hard enough for him to look again and meet Louis’ gaze. 

“You’re sure about this? Absolutely sure?” 

Harry nods, reaching with his free hand for Louis’, finding it still on his thigh and covering it. Louis turns his hand immediately, linking their fingers. Harry lets out a ragged breath and leans forward, Louis meeting him halfway in a kiss. It’s nice, reassuring and firm and loosens the knot of nerves in Harry’s chest. He’s smiling when Louis pulls away and stands and then straddles him. 

“When do you want to do it?” he asks, cupping Harry’s face with both his hands and tracing the shell of each ear with his thumbs. Harry shivers, leaning into the touch. 

“Dunno, tonight or tomorrow.” He wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, so they’re touching chest to chest. Louis smiles at him and leans down to kiss him, his hand coming up to squeeze at Harry’s bun, his fingers working on pulling the hair tie out of it. Harry leans back, wrapping a hand around Louis’ arm to stop him. 

“We’ve got to do laundry first,” he says. It’s weak, though, because he hasn’t moved his hand from Louis’ bum and he can feel Louis’ dick, half- hard against his stomach. They don’t have to do the pissing thing right now, but Harry wouldn’t say no to blowing him. 

“Better if we do laundry later,” Louis points out, leaning forward again. “But you’re right. We’ve got to talk about it.” 

“Seems to me like we’re kissing about it,” Harry says, but meets his mouth anyway, keeping his hold on Louis’ arm. Louis rocks down against him, just once, making a little noise into his mouth that makes Harry’s hand clench involuntarily around a handful of Louis’ arse. 

It devolves from there, goes from just kissing to Louis scrabbling at their flies to get their cocks out, his slim hand trying to wrap around both at the same time and Harry taking over for him when he can’t. It’s quick but good, a nice little precursor to whatever’s going to happen later. 

Louis wipes his hands on his shirt when he’s done, then takes the whole thing off, cleans Harry up and flings it at the pile of dirty clothing. Harry laughs at him. 

“You’re gross,” he says, and gets a sharp bite to the shoulder for it. 

“You love me,” Louis says, and Harry can only smile stupidly at him and agree.

\--

“So,” Louis says, hopping up onto the work surface later as Harry cooks them both dinner. He’s got a stick of celery from the fridge and is crunching it loudly, probably trying to annoy Harry more than he’s enjoying eating it. “You want to piss yourself.” 

Harry’s face heats immediately. “Yep,” he says, staring down at the pan of chicken, even though all he needs to do is cover it and let it cook for a bit. He isn’t sure he can look at Louis, just yet. “I do.”

“Tell me how you want it, then,” Louis says, nudging Harry’s hip with his foot. Harry sighs, puts the lid on the chicken and turns to face him. He shrugs, leaning against the counter. 

“I dunno, haven’t thought about it much past the initial --” He waves a hand about, like gesturing vaguely is the same as using words. Louis seems to understand anyway. “ -- pissing, you know.” 

“Well,” Louis says slowly, finishing off his celery stick, “There’s lots of ways to do it. Clothed, unclothed. In the bath or in the bed or on the floor or in here,” he says, gesturing around the kitchen. “And I can sort of, like, embarrass you on purpose, if you want, or I can do something else. Whatever you want.” 

Harry bites his lip, feeling a little overwhelmed. He doesn’t -- God, he doesn’t want to make a split decision, but the thought of tediously planning it out sort of takes the fun away and just makes him nervous. 

 

“Um, in the -- not in here,” he says, shaking his head. “Definitely not in the kitchen. Our room, maybe.” 

Louis tilts his head at him. “Bathroom or bed?” He’s blunt about it, like he sort of knows which one Harry’s going to choose but is asking anyway, just to make sure. It makes Harry’s cheeks heat again. 

“Bed,” he mumbles, “Unclothed. Maybe not naked.” He likes the idea of leaving a mark on something, even if it’s just one of his tiny pair of briefs. 

“Good, good,” Louis says, reaching out to tug him closer by the waist of his joggers. Harry goes easily. “And do you want me to be mean about it? Do you think you’d like that?”

He doesn’t know, is the thing. He knows how hot it gets Louis, how his chest flushes and he squirms like he wants to get away with the humiliation, and Harry can’t say he’s not tempted. But the thought of Louis being sweet, telling him how good and perfect he is also makes his blood run hot. He doesn’t know which one he’d like more. He doesn’t. 

“Want you to take care of me,” he says finally, meeting Louis’ gaze. Louis’ hand tightens in the fabric of Harry’s joggers, the pull of it making him take a half step closer. 

“I can do that,” Louis says, stroking a hand down Harry’s stomach. “You want me to fuck you after?”

Harry shivers at the touch, holding back a groan at Louis’ words. “Yeah,” he says shakily, hands gripping the work surface on either side of Louis’ legs. “Yeah, want that.” 

Louis hums, pleased. “What’s the word?” 

“Lightning,” Harry responds, dipping in to kiss him. 

“You’ll use it if you need to?” 

Harry nods, smiling when Louis kisses him once more, gently. He feels less nervous now. Or, still nervous, but a different type. A good nervous, the kind that elevates everything and makes you focus better, not the kind that makes you mess up and ruin everything. 

“Want you to drink some water,” Louis says, pulling away. “A whole bottle at least, yeah?” 

Harry nods. The last time he went to the bathroom was probably a few hours ago, and he hasn’t been consuming much of anything in the time since. That’s fine, though. He can wait. He wants to wait. 

“You do that and get dinner ready and I’ll be right back,” Louis says, slipping off the work surface and disappearing down the hall. 

Harry grabs the plates and fixes them up, setting the table and grabbing drinks out of the fridge. Louis comes back just as he’s uncapping a water bottle, and they make eye contact as he brings it to his lips, chugging the whole thing in one go. Louis watches him the whole time, eyes getting darker when the plastic of the bottle cracks loudly as Harry drinks it. 

“Sexy,” he says, when Harry sets the empty bottle on the table. He disappears into the kitchen and comes back with another in his hand. 

“This one too,” he says, setting it in front of Harry. “Slower.” 

Harry nods and leaves it alone for the time being. They eat their dinner, Louis leading the conversation from topic to topic and Harry happy to just follow along. He clears the plates when they’re done, leaving his water bottle still half-full on the table. 

Louis pulls him onto the couch when he comes back, the water bottle already on the table beside them. 

“Finish that,” he says, making Harry sit. “We’re going to watch a film.” 

“Alright,” Harry says, grabbing the water and taking another drink. “Not anything Marvel, please.” 

“Absolutely no taste,” Louis gripes at him, but finds something else to put on. It turns out to be the second Hangover film, which Harry can deal with. 

“Gonna get my face tattooed in Thailand,” Louis says as he hits play on the menu. Harry snorts. 

“You will not. Management would murder you,” he says, giving him a nudge. Louis rolls his eyes.

“Whatever,” he says, and settles into Harry’s side as the movie begins to play. 

\--

Harry finishes the water about twenty minutes into the film, and doesn’t start feeling it until a few minutes later. He shifts, jostling Louis, who makes an unhappy noise at him. He settles again easily enough though, and lets Louis lean his head on his shoulder as they watch. 

By the time the movie’s ended, though, Harry’s shifting every few seconds, trying to find a position that doesn’t put pressure on his bladder. Louis’ spent the last fifteen minutes of the film stroking the inside of his thigh and feeling out his dick through his joggers until he’d chubbed up half-hard, and it’s the weirdest sort of painful and turned on that Harry thinks he’s ever felt. It’s weird, it’s definitely weird, but he likes it. 

“Alright?” Louis asks, giving Harry’s thigh a squeeze. Harry nods and shifts again. He wants to ask when they’re going to go into the bedroom, if they’re going to wait even longer, until Harry gets like Louis does sometimes where he can’t focus, but he doesn’t want to. He’s not afraid, really, he just trusts Louis to know when he’ll need it. 

Louis gives him a once-over and nods, standing and holding out his hand. Harry takes it, relief flooding him when Louis hauls him up and drags him toward the bedroom. He knew he didn’t have to ask. He knew Louis would just know. 

Louis opens the door to the bedroom and Harry freezes at the sight of their bed covered in towels. Not the good towels, either, but the old ratty ones that Harry’s had since they lived together the first time and kept when he moved out. He hadn’t realized Louis knew he brought them back, or that Louis even knew where he kept the spare towels, but obviously he does. Obviously Louis pays attention to their life together. Harry doesn’t know why he’d think otherwise. 

“Didn’t want you to worry about messing up the bed,” Louis says, pressing himself to Harry’s back, his breath hot on Harry’s neck. “Didn’t want you to have anything else to think about.” 

And God, that’s just -- Harry can’t handle how perfect that is. He turns, catching Louis’ face in his hands and kissing him hard, whining against Louis’ mouth when he pressed forward, hands going under his shirt and smoothing up his sides. 

“Off off off,” Louis says, tugging Harry’s shirt over his head, messing up his bun as he does so. Harry reaches around to take it down as Louis tugs his own shirt over his head and then his joggers off, his hands settling around Harry’s hips and guiding him toward the bed. 

“How do you feel?” he asks, pushing him down on the bed. Harry goes easily, the movement adding to the pressure in his gut and his back arching before he can stop it. 

“Good,” he answers, breathless as Louis tugs his joggers off and slides between his thighs, making his legs bend. It shifts something, and when Louis leans over him, putting some of his weight on Harry’s lower stomach, Harry whimpers before he can stop it, his eyes squeezing shut. “Hurts.” 

“Yeah?” Louis strokes his fingertips down Harry’s stomach, brushing over his spare nipples and belly.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, looking up at him again. “Like it.” 

“Thought you might,” Louis says after a pause, his voice honeyed and dark like his gaze. He leans forward harder, making Harry groan. 

“Look so good like that,” he says, still petting Harry’s sides and stomach, making the muscles quiver. His legs have started trembling around Louis’ hips, and Harry knows he’s close, knows he could let go at any moment, but can’t quite get there. It’s difficult, letting go of that ingrained training that says _don’t piss all over your bed and your boyfriend_. More difficult than Harry thought, at least. 

“Stay with me,” Louis says, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. He leans up, pressing his whole weight down on Harry’s stomach as he kisses him hard, biting at his lower lip and soothing it with his tongue. The sting of it makes everything sharper -- the pressure in his bladder, the weight of Louis on top of him, the zing of arousal every time he shifts on the bed. It’s all so, so much and so overwhelming that Harry has to break off and gasp in a breath, nodding when Louis asks if he’s alright. 

“You’re doing so well Hazza, you know that?” Louis murmurs in Harry’s ear. He’s started rocking his hips in a soft sort of rhythm, sharp bursts of pain and pleasure spiking up Harry’s spine each time he adds to the pressure. “So, so good for me. Look so good like this, all laid out and desperate. That how you feel? Desperate?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, though it’s more of a moan and he can’t even feel embarrassed about it. He wants to wrap his legs around Louis’ hips and hold him there until the pressure gets to be too much and he breaks, wants Louis to pin his wrists by his head and make him do it, make him let go. “Please, Louis, need it.” 

“Yeah, I’ve got you love, don’t worry,” Louis says, pressing kiss after kiss to Harry’s mouth. He gets a hand in Harry’s curls, his thumb tracing the skin behind Harry’s ear gently, mumbling out, “You’re so lovely. Beautiful and lovely and perfect, babe,” before tugging hard on Harry’s hair. 

Maybe it’s the sharp pull that does it, maybe it’s the words Louis whispering to him, but something clicks into place and Harry groans, back arching off the bed as his legs shake and the pressure in his bladder relieves itself, his pants growing warm and damp, and then warm and drenched. It feels like it goes on forever, until he’s weightless and the only thing tethering him is Louis. 

“Fuck,” he says when it’s over and he’s opened his eyes again. Louis’ looking down at him, eyes dark and hungry and his cock hard against Harry’s hip. God, Harry wants it in him. He wants that a lot. “Fuck, Louis.” 

“I know,” Louis answers, sounding wrecked, like he’s the one who just pissed everywhere. “I know, love.” He leans down to give Harry a scorching kiss, hips rocking against Harry’s with more intent than before. Harry slides his hands down Louis’ back, squeezing at his arse and pulling him closer, smirking when Louis grunts against his mouth. 

“God,” Louis gasps when he pulls away, looking like he needs the air. Harry kisses down his throat and grinds his hips up, trying to get a good angle. “Fuck, Harry. Harry, do you want me to clean you up, or do you want me to fuck you like this?” 

Harry stops and looks up at him. That’s -- The thought of Louis fucking him without taking the time to wipe the remnants of the piss away, that’s -- God, that’s hot. The thought of Louis taking the time to clean him up is sweet and also something Harry would like, but not right now. God, not right now. 

“Like this,” he says, blinking up at Louis, his eyes wide. Louis looks down at him, his chest heaving a bit with each breath he takes, but he looks up for it. Feels up for it, definitely. 

“Please,” Harry adds. 

“Love it when you’re polite,” Louis mumbles and kisses him hard one more time before leaning away to rifle through the bedside table. Harry watches him, palming himself through his wet underwear, shivering with the reminder. 

Louis crawls back over, tugging Harry’s briefs off and throwing them off the side of the bed. He gets his own off as well and settles back between Harry’s legs, getting his fingers wet and into Harry in no time, opening him up until his legs are shaking again and he can’t stop tugging at the sheets above his head. 

When he finally feels the head of Louis’ dick against his hole, Harry moans, trying to rock his hips down to get him inside. Louis shushes him, puts a hand to his stomach and presses in slow, the stretch of it making Harry whine and his back arch off the bed. Louis gets as deep as he can and pauses for a moment before drawing his hips away and thrusting back in, hard right off the bat and relentless, just how Harry likes it. 

He comes when Louis leans up to get his teeth on a nipple, biting down as he hits his prostate, Louis’ other hand wrapped around Harry’s cock and jerking him off. Louis comes not long after, pulling out gently and discarding the condom off the side of the bed. Harry wrinkles his nose at the thought of it on the floor, but doesn’t actually want to move or do anything about it. Besides, a moment later Louis starts wiping him down with a towel, throwing it off when he’s done and tugging the other soiled one out from under Harry to get rid of as well. 

They settle under the covers, Louis pressing up against Harry’s back, spooning him like he likes. 

“Alright?” he asks, placing his hand in the middle of Harry’s chest. 

Harry turns his head and smiles at him, straining to kiss the tip of his nose. Louis wrinkles it up but laughs, leaning forward to kiss him on the mouth. 

“I’m great,” Harry says. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Louis answers, pressing a kiss to the nape of Harry’s neck. He feels warm and safe with Louis wrapped around him like this, like no matter what happens they’ll always, always be okay. 

He puts his hand over Louis’ and closes his eyes. Sleep sounds good right about now.


End file.
